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VERSES 


By 

CHARLOTTE  WHITCOMB 


(\^^ 


BOSTON 
RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

1907 


To  My  Beloved 
Here  and  Beyond 


MlQlv^}Si 


Excepting  the  song  "Minnesota"  every  poem  in  this 
volume  has  appeared  in  the  periodical  press.  The  author 
desires  to  thank  editors  of  the  Touth's  Companion, 
Munseys,  The  Living  Church,  The  Churchman,  The 
Advance,  Woman  s  Home  Companion,  etc.,  for  permission 
to  republish  in  this  form. 


CONTENTS 

Minnesota             ......        9 

The  Old  Tear     . 

10 

fVhat  I   Would  Be        . 

II 

A  New  Tear  Jingle   . 

12 

A  New  Tear  Song 

14 

Memorial  Day — 1 899  . 

15 

To  M.  B.  P.      . 

16 

The   War  Story  of  the  Teai 

s 

17 

Memorial  Day — 1 90 1  . 

18 

November 

19 

The  Ministry  of  the  Trees 

20 

A  Ne-w   Tear's  Ballad 

22 

Why  NotP 

24 

Unknown    . 

25 

The  Old  Chiefs  Prayer 

26 

Her  Story 

28 

Going  Home 

29 

Pictures 

30 

His  Father's  Son 

32 

Love's   Utmost      . 

33 

Comfortless 

34 

The  Baby's  Star 

35 

A   Tribute  . 

38 

The  Glen    . 

39 

The  Rail  Fence 

40 

In  Memoriam      . 

41 

To  Helen  . 

42 

Forgiveness 

42 

My  Little  Clock 

•     43 

The  Closed  House 

•     44 

Heartsease 

•     45 

Electricity 

•     46 

Faithless     . 

. 

■     47 

They  Come  Not  Back 

Two  Problems     . 

How  It  Happened 

Misapprehension 

The  Chimes  and  the  Street 

O  Help  Divine  . 

Liberated     . 

The  Christinas  Story 

A  Christmas  Hymn 

The  First  Easter 

Christus  Resurrexit 

An  Easter  Carol 

While  it  was  yet  Da) 

An  Easter  Hymn 


Minstrel 


48 
49 
50 
51 
52 
53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 
59 
60 
61 


FERSES 


MINNESOTA 

A  Song 
Air:     Araby's  Daughter 

O  fair  Minnesota!     Thy  river, — thy  lover, — 

In  ages  gone  by  was  the  theme  of  romance. 
The  quest  of  brave  sailors  who  crossed  the  seas  over, 

'Neath  banners  of  Spain  and  the  hhes  of  France" 
The  great  river  called,  in  old  days  of  tradition, 

De  Soto,  La  Salle, — names  we  cannot  forget, — 
It  hailed  AUoucz  in  his  lone  island  mission. 

Gave   Hennepin    welcome    and  beckoned   Mar- 
quette. 

Then  sing  for  the  river,  the  mystical  river. 
The  river  of  rivers  that  welcomed  Marquette. 

O  brave  Minnesota!     Those  leaders  forever 

Shall  live  in  thy  songs  and  on  history's  page. 
With  captains  and  martyrs  and  knights  of  endeavor, 
Who  won  and  bequeathed  us  our  proud  heritage. 
At  camp  fire  and  hearthstone  full  many  a  story 

Of  ambush  and  battle-field  shall  be  rehearsed, — 
How  Colvill's  unconquered  found  graves  and  found 
glory. 
The  first  Minnesota!     The  glorious  First! 

Then  cheers  for  our  heroes,  and  tears  for  our 

heroes. 
And  love  for  our  heroes,  the  glorious  First! 
O  proud  Minnesota!     Thy  smiling  savannas 

Are  grain  fleets  at  anchor  with  pennons  unfurled. 
Thy  reverent  pines  to  thy  mines  sing  hosannas. 
Thy  mills  are  all  humming,  "We've  bread  for 
the  world." 
Thy  lakes,  legend  haunted,  thy  messenger  waters, 

Thy  white-breasted  falls  with  their  feet  in  the  foam, 
Are  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  sons  and  the  daughters 
Who,  native  or  alien,  all  hail  thee  as  home. 
O  fair  Minnesota!     O  brave  Minnesota! 
My  own  Minnesota !     My  beautiful  home ! 

9 


THE  OLD  YEAR 

1^' '■''■■•''■ 
Old  Father  Time  came  down  last  night 

And  found  the  dying  year, 
And  took  him  gently  in  his  arms, 

And  laid  him  on  his  bier. 

And,  one  by  one,  the  mourning  hours, 

Stole  out  with  sob  or  sigh, 
And  each  one  as  she  passed  along. 

Bade  the  old  year  good-bye. 

And  when  cold,  black-browed  midnight  came, 

And  tolled  the  passing  bell. 
The  hero  softly  breathed  his  last, 

Farewell,  old  friend,  farewell! 

Then  out  beneath  the  watching  stars, 
While  requiem  winds  made  moan, 

The  mystic  cortege  swept  away 
Into  the  vast  unknown. 


10 


WHAT  I  WOULD  BE 

What  would  I  be  if  I  could  ? 

Let  me  consider  a  minute — 
Something  so  that  the  old  world  would 

Be  better  for  my  being  in  it. 

Then,  what  would  I  be  if  I  could  ? 

O,  laugh  a,  a  lily,  a  linnet, — 
Anything  so  that  the  sad  world  shoulu 

Be  brighter  for  my  being  in  it. 

But  what  would  I  be  if  I  could  ? 

This,  (and  I  hope  to  win  it, — ) 
A  happy-hearted  woman, 

Wholesome  and  sane  and  human 
And  loving,  so  that  my  own  world  woulu 

Be  glad  because  I  was  in  it. 


11 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  JINGLE 

Of  all  the  happy  hoHdays, 

The  days  of  mirth  and  cheer, 
The  bravest  in  the  calandar 

Is  the  first  day  of  the  year; 
The  first  day  of  the  year,  dear  friends, 

We  bid  old  sins  adieu, 
And  we  tear  off,  and  declare  ofi^. 

And  begin  all  over  new. 

'Tis  New  Year's  finds  the  gaffer  young 

And  makes  the  gammer  gay — 
You  know  the  saw  concerning  Jack, 

With  all  work  and  no  play  ? 
With  all  work,  and  no  play  dear  friends, 

We'll  be  but  dullards,  too. 
So  put  away  all  care  today 

And  begin  the  world  anew. 

The  mistletoe  is  hanging  yet 

Unwithered  on  the  wall, — 
The  Christmas  tree  is  waiting  yet, 

For  Epiphany  to  fall, — 
For  the  dear  Twelfth  Night  to  fall,  friends. 

And  sandwiched  'twixt  the  two, 
With  ringing  chime  comes  New  Year  time 

When  we  start  again,  anew. 


12 


Then  put  away  with  yesterday 

The  ghosts  of  care  and  woe, 
And  haste  to  kiss  the  maiden,  Joy, 

Beneath  the  mistletoe, — 
Beneath  the  mistletoe,  dear  friends. 

Are  Joy  and  Goodness,  too. 
When  we  tear  off  and  declare  off, 

And  begin  all  things  anew. 

But  the  highest,  holiest  holiday 

Is  kept  alone — apart, — 
A  secret  anniversary 

Known  only  to  the  heart, — 
Known  only  to  the  heart,  dear  friends, 

When  we  bid  old  sins  adieu. 
When  we  tear  off  and  declare  off. 

And  begin  all  over,  new. 


13 


A  NEW  YEAR  SONG 

Old  time  has  dropped  from  out  his  hand 

Six  thousand  New  Year's  days, 
Since  the  creation  morning  song 

First  woke  the  strain  of  praise. 
The  major  and  the  minor  chords 

Have  blended  all  the  years 
Thank  God  for  more  of  glad  than  sad, 

For  more  of  smiles  than  tears. 

Thank  God,  that  on  this  New  Year's  day, 

Our  times  are  in  his  hand, 
And  better  things  he  has  for  us 

Than  we  can  understand. 
The  prophet-bards  have  long  foretold 

A  golden  time  to  come. 
The  brotherhood  of  man  to  be. 

The  great  millennium. 

A  thousand  years!     O,  golden  age! 

When  woe  and  want  shall  cease. 
When  over  all  the  happy  world 

Shall  brood,  dove-like,  God's  peace. 
Ring  out!     Ring  out!     O  happy  bells! 

All  woe  and  want  and  tears; 
The  golden  age,  it  waits  for  us; — 

Ring  loud  her  glad  "  New  Years. " 


14 


MEMORIAL  DAY,  1899 

To  note  of  bugle,  beat  of  drum. 

With  measured  step  and  slow, 
Up  the  long  village  street  they  come, 
And  to  the  graveyard  go. 

Into  the  yard  of  graves  they  go. 

Our  veterans  scarred  and  gray, 
To  pay  the  tribute  comrades  owe 
On  each  memorial  day.   ■' 

But  while  they  place  the  dear  heartsease. 

And  hear  the  bugles  play. 
The  thoughts  of  each  are  over  seas, 
O,  many  a  league  away. 

They  hear  the  bullets  hiss  and  sing, 

They  hear  the  answering  guns; 
O  God,  it  is  a  fearful  thing 
For  sires  to  lose  their  sons. 

Reach  down,  dear  Lord,  Thy  gracious  hand. 

And  save,  if  it  may  be. 
From  harm  our  soldiers  on  the  land, 
Our  sailors  on  the  sea. 

For  all  our  heroes,  love  and  tears. 

Glory  to  them  for  aye; 
Honor  shall  name  them  down  the  years 
On  each  memorial  day. 


15 


TO  M.  B.  P. 

I  canna'  halfway  compliment 
The  bonny  books  ye  kindly  sent, 

Nor  fitly  speak  my  praises,— 
The  kerchiefs,  too,  so  sheer  and  fine, 
All  'broidered  round  wi'  natty  vine, 

The  corners  decked  wi'  daisies. 

The  books  are  guid,  the  linen  fair; — 
The  first,  I'll  con,  the  second  wear. 
Nor  e'er  forget  the  giver; — 

0  winsome,  cheery,  happy  elf, 

1  lo'  ye  for  your  sonsie  self 

An'  may  ye  live  forever. 

Or  syne  sic'  wish  is  idle  breath, 

This  is  my  prayer, — that,  after  death, 

Beyond  the  grave's  dark  portals, 
We  twa,  a  pair  o'  blithesome  ghosts, 
May  wander  'mang  the  heavenly  ho?t5» 

The  cantiest  o'  immortals, 


x6 


THE  WAR  STORY  OF  THE  YEARS 

Our  men-folk  donned  the  gray  or  blue 

And  seized  the  army  gun, 
And  formed  in  ranks  of  two  and  two 

In  i86i. 

On  many  a  field  they  fought  and  won, 
Or  strove  as  strong  men  strive. 

But  welcomed  peace  when  war  was  done 
In  1865. 

From  plain  to  sea,  from  sea  to  plain, 

Clear  fell  the  call  of  fate 
To  crush  the  power  of  haughty  Spain, 

In   1898. 

New  notes  of  peace  from  isles  of  palm 

Ring  out  to  hills  of  pine, — 
Thank  God  to  storm  succeeds  a  calm, — 

In' 1899. 

Now  let  us  pray  that  in  the  earth 

Grim  war  shall  cease  to  be; 
May  peace  once  promised  with  Christ's  birth 

Mark  the  new  century, 
In   1901. 


17 


MEMORIAL  DAY,  1901 

Disconsolate  she  comes,  a  pallid,  sabled  mourner. 
Remembering    her    heroes    with    reverence    laid 
away; — 
So  recently  our  guest,  how  gentle  a  sojourner! 

Who   had  changed   her  weeds   for  draperies   of 
violet  and  gray. 

Still  for  the  discomforted  remaineth  consolation, 
Since,  unstained,  amid  the  crape  float  the  white 
and  crimson  bars, 
And   for  this,  that  North    and  South,  a   reunited 
nation, 
May  see   upon  our  flag's  blue  field,  new  risen 
silver  stars. 


18 


NOVEMBER 

O  the  meadow  is  brown,  and  the  sky  is  gray, 

And  the  river  runs  dark  to  the  sea, 
And  the  song  and  gladness  of  yesterday 

Today  are  not  for  me. 

'.   When  the  year  grows  old 

p?  The  world  is  cold, 

And  cold  runs  the  stream  to  the  sea, 
And  love  and  its  lay 
Were  of  yesterday, 

But  today  are  not  for  me. 

Mourn  not,  sad  heart,  for  that  yester  bright, 

Nor  grieve  over  present  ill; 
Tomorrow  will  surely  follow  tonight 
And  bring  God's  peace,  if  He  will. 
There  was  never  a  day 
So  cold  and  gray, 
But  morrow  and  gladness  knew, 
Nor  a  human  fate, 
E'er  so  desolate 
But  waked  to  happiness  too. 


19 


THE  MINISTRY  OF  THE  TREES 

Into  the  woods  with  my  lads  I  went, 

(The  month  it  was  April  and  well  nigh  spent.) 

Into  the  woods  when  the  buds  were  green, 
And  like  monks  in  cowls  the  ferns  were  seen. 

"  This  tree  shall  be  mine,"  so  one  lad  spoke, 
And  clasped  with  his  arms  a  sturdy  oak. 

The  other  lad  spied  a  statelypine 

"  See  mother,"  he  cried,  "this  tree  shall  be  mine. 

The  oak  and  the  pine  our  roof  trees  stood, 
For  we  reared  our  home  in  the  good  greenwood. 

How  long  is  it  since  ?     The  years  are  flown. 
My  lads  are  men  and  I  am  alone. 

Said  one  at  parting,  "  If  night  seem  long, 

O  Mother,  be  cheered  by  our  pine  tree's  song." 


20 


"  And  glad,"  says  the  other,  "each  day  shall  be, 
With  messages  brought  by  our  brave  oak  tree." 

So  out  I  fare  when  the  sun  is  high 

And  the  wind  from  the  sea  goes  wondering  by; — 

And  the  oak  leaves  whisper  of  camp  and  fight, 
And  my  soldier's  deeds  in  the  cause  of  right. 

The  dark  night  through  in  trust  I  bide 
For  always  the  pine-tree  chants  outside; 

Never  of  wreck  or  storm  of  steel. 

But  ever  of  peace  and  my  sailor's  weal. 

If  my  lads  come  soon  or  the  time  be  long. 
My  courage  is  high  and  my  faith  is  strong; 

For  whispering  oak  and  pine-tree  tell 
God  careth  for  us  and  all  shall  be  well. 


21 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  BALLAD 

She  sat  by  the  window  on  New  Year's  Eve, 

A  fair  Httle  maid  was  she; 
The  new  moon  shone  on  her  wistful  face, 

As  full  on  her  face  as  could  be. 
Then  the  little  maid  said,  as  she  gazed  at  the  moon; 

(A  fair  little  maid  was  she) 
"  O,  moon  so  light,  O,  moon  so  bright, 
Grant  me  the  wish  I  wish  tonight. " 

She  wished  once  and  she  wished  twice, 

Full  three  times  wished  she: — 
"  O,  New  Year  moon  ,  O,  true  year  moon, 

My  sweetheart  show  unto  me; — 
The  cut  of  his  hair  and  what  he  shall  wear, 

This  night  reveal  to  me. 
Moon  so  light,  moon  so  bright. 
Grant  me  the  wish  I  wish  tonight. " 

A  youth  was  loitering  back  of  the  hedge, 

(A  mischievous  lover  was  he) 
He  crept  along  to  her  window  ledge. 
Popping  up  as  quick  as  could  be. 

The  cut  of  her  hair,  and  what'she  doth  wear, 
"  This  night  reveal  to  me,"  said  he. 

Moon  so  light,  moon  so  bright, 
"  Grant  me  the  wish  I  wish  tonight. " 


J2 


His  face  shut  out  the  low  new  moon — 
"  Your  wish  has  come,  do  you  see  ? 

Now  name  your  lover  my  own  sweetheart," 
"  He's  the  man  in  the  moon,"  said  she. 

"  My  sweetheart's  the  man  in  the  moon  above, 
But  you're  all  the  moon  I  can  see. 

O,  moon  so  light,  O,  moon  so  bright. 

You've  granted  the  wishes  we  wished  tonight. " 


23 


WHY  NOT  ? 

If  I  were  free,  dear  bird,  like  you, 

Quite  free,  like  you,  to  go  or  stay. 
Oh,  well  I  know  what  I  would  do 

Today. 
I'd  leave  the  prison  I  have  known, 
The  city  cells  of  brick  and  stone. 

And  be  a  cheerful  hermitess; — 

My  hermitage  the  wilderness, 
And  sing  to  heaven  the  whole  day  through, 
A  comrade,  little  bird  like  you. 

"  Oh,  self  immured    why  not  he  free? 

Unlock  your  door  and  come  with  me. " 

If  I,  Hke  you,  oh,  breeze,  were  free, 

And  need  not  work  but  might  just  play, 

I'd  see  the  world  I  long  to  see 

Today. 

Far  from  the  marts  of  striving  men. 

In  by-ways  sweet  beyond  their  ken, 
I'd  follow  where  the  swallow  dips, 
I'd  skim  the  waves  beside  the  ships. 

And  be,  bright  breeze,  the  whole  day  through, 

A  happy  vagabond  like  you. 

"  Oh,  timid  soull      fVhy  not  he  free  ? 
The  door  is  open,  coma  with  me. " 


24 


"  UNKNOWN" 
1862 — 19 — 

She  stood,  that  immemorial  clay. 

Within  the  shelter  of  his  arm, 
Grief-bowed,  and  heard  him,  rev'rent,  say — 

"  God  keep  my  little  girl  from  harm!" 
And  then  his  column  marched  away. 

He  fell  with  broken  blade  in  hand, 

Upon  his  heart  her  pictured  face; 
His  generous  foes  could  understand, — 

They  left  his  treasure  in  its  place; 
They  answered  thus  his  eyes  command. 

He  lies  within  a  grave  unknown. 

Somewhere  beneath  the  Southern  stars; 

She  sits  with  whitened  hair,  alone; 

His  wounds  were  death, — her's  show  no  scars, 

And  all  the  burdened  years  have  flown. 

The  lengthening  years  have  gently  flown, — 
"  God  keeps  her"  in  his  own  right  hand. 

She  says,  "Fame  sometime  finds  its  own, — 
Some  men  are  great,  my  love  was  grand! 

Can  such  as  he  be  left  unknown  ?" 

With  happy  eyes  she  sits  alone. 

This  latest  of  Memorial  Days; 
Outside,  the  march,  the  thundertone 

Of  cannon, — music,  garlands,  bays! 
She  smiles,  "  My  love  comes  to  his  own — 

"  Only  his  grave  is  left  Unknown. " 


25 


THE  OLD  CHIEF'S  PRAYER 

With  downcast  face  and  covered  head, 

An  aged  chief  crouched  in  the  aisle; 
He  hstened  while  the  prayers  were  said, 

Nor  moved,  nor  gave  response  the  while. 
The  service  done,  he  drew  away 

The  blanket  from  his  snow-white  hair, 
And,  standing,  said,  "I,  too,  would  pray, — 

Old  Broken  Wing  w^ould  speak  this  prayer. 

"  O,  White  Man's  God,  who  must  be  great, 

Greater  than  storm,  or  sea,  or  sun, 
Because  the  white  man  is  so  great — 

The  onward,  never-stopping  one. 
Before  him,  we  are  feeble  grown; 

Forgotten  soon  our  braves  shall  lie. 
Their  deeds  unsung,  their  names  unknown — 

Waves,  only,  which  have  once  run  by. 


26 


"  The  hours  are  dark  from  set  of  sun, 

The  earth  is  lonely,  too,  and  cold; 
We  linger  on,  nor  shout,  nor  run; 

Our  babes  are  sad,  our  young  men  old. 
O,  White  Man's  God  so  great  art  Thou, 

No  mercy  canst  Thou  know,  but  yet, 
Teach  dying  men  the  neck  to  bow 

And  make  Old  Broken  Wing  forget. " 

He  ceased, — the  evening  shadows  gray 

Hid  wigwam,  settlement,  and  plain, 
As  forth  he  fared;  and  since  that  day 

He  never  has  been  seen  again. 
When  wakened  waves  flow  voiceful  by, 

Or  loud,  'mid  pines,  the  wind  harps  ring. 
The  Indian  children  gravely  cry, 

"  He  prays  again — Old  Broken  Wing." 
"  Hark!  hear  the  prayer  of  Broken  Wing." 


27 


HER  STORY 

A  winsome  herb,  contented  just  to  grow, 

Grew  brave  and  true  within  a  wilderness; 
Day  fell  upon  her  like  a  soft  caress; 

She  saw  the  dawns  and  twilights  come  and  go, 

And  star-set  night.  Life  was  all  good,  and  so 
She  yielded  fragrance,  as  pure  souls  confess 
In  wordless  prayer  the  heart's  deep  tenderness, 

When  lo!  a  mower  came  that  way  to  mow. 

For  her  delight,  recurrent  flashed  the  blade. 
For  her,  in  measured  music,  dropt  the  grass, — 
"  Shall  I  have  meat  and  fail  to  render  grace  ?" 

She  said,  and  fell  not  only  unafraid 

But  full  of  joy  that  so  her  life  could  pass; — 
Now,  dead,  her  soul  of  sweetness  fills  the  place. 


GOING  HOME 

I  know  a  mansion  fair  and  grand 

Where  scented  fountains  play, 
And  far  and  wide  on  either  hand 

Brave  acres  stretch  away. 
The  ovfner  hears  with  smiling  face 

Its  praise  from  all  who  come. 
But  inly  says, — "  A  stopping  place, — 

Some  day  I'm  going  home. " 

Upon  a  hillside  far  away, 

Fanned  by  the  mountain  breeze, 
His  "home"  still  stands,  moss-grown  and  gray 

Beneath  its  patriarch  trees. 
And  he,  now  old,  with  furrov/ed  face, 

(They  need  God's  grace  who  roam) 
Still  patient  sighs — "  A  stopping  place, 

Some  day  I'm  going  home.  " 


29 


PICTURES 

Out  from  the  studio  window 

Of  a  painter's  home  today, 
I  saw  a  yoke  of  oxen 

Drawing  a  load  of  hay, — 
A  yoke  of  wide-horned  oxen, 
Drawing  a  load  of  hay. 

The  silken  throng  around  me 

Were  lost  in  a  mist  of  tears, 

And  back  I  sped  to  childhood 

Over  the  bridge  of  years; — 

Sped  back  to  scenes  of  childhood 
Over  the  bridge  of  years. 

Oh,  the  glory  of  the  morning 

With  the  air  like  balmy  June, 
And  the  tireless  brooklet  singing 
Its  unforgotten  tune, — 

The  mountain  wind  and  the  brooklet 
Crooning  the  same  old  tune. 

Where  timothy  and  clover 

Swayed  in  the  breezes  blithe, 
I  listened  to  the  mower 

Whetting  his  shining  scythe, — 

The  tanned  and  bare-armed  mower, 
Whetting  his  shining  scythe. 

I  saw  the  sinewy  farmer 

Spreading  the  heavy  swath, 
While  the  new  hay  lay  in  windrows. 
Like  strips  of  burnished  cloth, — 
The  fragrant  hay  in  windrows. 
Unrolled  like  webs  of  cloth. 


I  saw  the  apple  orchard, 

The  field  of  tasselled  corn, 
And  heard  the  merry  echoes 
Repeat  the  dinner  horn, — 
Heard  all  the  hillside  echoes 
Repeat  the  dinner  horn. 

Balancing  on  a  weed  stalk, 
Loud  sang  the  bobolink, 
While  from  the  brimming  pitcher. 
The  mowers  stopped  to  drink, — 

From  the  cool  and  brimming  pitcher 
I  saw  the  mowers  drink. 

And  then,  from  the  upland  pasture, 

O'er  beds  of  brake  and  moss, 
I  heard  the  barefoot  farm-boy 
Calling,  "Co'  bos'!     Co'  bos'!" 
The  little  farm-boy  calling, 
Co'bos'!     Co'bos'!     Co'bos'!" 

Roused  by  the  smiling  artist's: 

"  What  more  will  you  see  today  ?" 
I  say,  "A  yoke  of  oxen 
Drawing  a  load  of  hay, — 

My  father's  wide-horned  oxen 
Bringing,  at  dusk,  the  hay." 


31 


HIS  FATHER'S  SON 

With  furrowed  face  and  toil-worn  hands, 

She  sat  within  her  decent  room,- — 
She  heard  the  music  of  the  bands, 

She  heard  rejoicing  cannon  boom. 
"My  son,  a  leader  in  the  state!" 

She  said,  "What  good  thing  have  I  done 
O  God,  who  ruleth  small  and  great. 

That  Thou  dost  bless  me  in  my  son  ?" 


H 


She  closed  her  faded,  happy  eyes, — 

In  fancy  she  was  far  away — 
Away  where  NoPA^ay's  mountains  rise. 

Where  Norway's  waters  leap  and  play. 
In  her  tall  son  she  saw  again 

Her  prattling  comrade  all  day  long 
Amid  the  fields  of  ripened  grain. 

Where  rang  the  reaper's  harvest  song. 

Ill 

The  reaper,  ah!  she  could  but  grieve 

"He  was  my  own  good  man,"  said  she, 
"It  broke  my  heart  his  grave  to  leave 

When  the  ship  sailed  with  Jan  and  me. 


32 


Her  task  of  years  to  pray,  to  plan. 
To  eke  by  toil  their  scanty  hoard, 

To  make  her  boy  as  good  a  man 

As  the  sleeper  by  the  Northland  fjord. 


IV 


Roused  by  the  cannon's  thunderous  boom, 
The  pulsing  music  of  the  bands, 

She  meets  her  son  within  her  room 
Longing  to  clasp  her  eager  hands, 

She  thinks  not  of  the  burdened  years. 
Her  part  in  all  that  has  been  won. 

But  murmurs,  smiling  through  her  tears, 
Thank  God!  he  is  his  father's  son — 

A  strong,  true  man— his  father's  son." 


33 


LOVE'S  UTMOST 

The  wholesome  manna  falls  each  day 

For  you,  dear  heart,  and  you; 
Love  feeds  our  souls.  Love  smooths  our  way, 

What  further  need  Love  do  ? 
Each  sunrise  sees  our  wants  supplied, 

Each  sunset  finds  us  satisfied, 
Throuo;h  wilderness.  Love  doth  guide, 

What  further  can  Love  do  ? 


COMFORTLESS 

He  wronged  a  loving  heart  and,  dying,  said, 
"  God  pardons  all, — I  go  released  and  shriven. 

She,  twice  defrauded,  mourns  discomforted, 
Because  he  never  cared  to  be  by  her  forgiven. 


34 


THE  BABY'S  STAR 

I  sat  one  summer  evening 

Within  the  open  door. 
With  my  lisping,  blue-eyed  nephew 

At  play  on  the  cool  porch  floor. 
We  watched  the  gold  of  the  sunset 

Against  the  sky  afar, 
Till  it  gathered  into  a  brilliant 

And  shone — the  evening  star. 

A  patter  of  baby  footsteps, 

The  music  of  baby  talk. 
And  his  dress  a  snowy  flutter 

Adown  the  garden  walk. 
"  Oh,  pretty,  pretty  for  Auntie!" 

He  had  gone  in  quest  of  the  star — 
Thus  innocent  and  loving, 

God's  blessed  angels  are. 

I  could  not  follow  the  rover, 

I  was  helpless  from  years  of  pain, 
But  I  said,  "My  darling  loves  me; 

When  I  call,  he  will  come  again. " 
His  steps  grew  faint  and  fainter. 

The  evening  air  grew  chill, 
"  Come  dear!"  I  called,  "Come  Baby 

And  listened — but  all  was  still. 

1  called  till  the  dusk  had  deepened, 
I  was  faint  with  doubt  and  dread. 

When  I  heard  his  flying  footsteps 
And  my  soul  was  comforted. 


35 


His  face  was  like  one  transfigured, 

And  in  his  violet  eyes 
Was  a  look  not  born  of  terror, 

Or  pain,  but  of  awed  surprise. 

"  Oh,  where,"  I  said,  "was  my  baby? 

And  what  did  Harry  see?" 
"  I  'sink  'twas  a  big,  big  naughty — 

But  Auntie'll  keep  care  o'me!" 
I  gathered  the  little  one  to  me, 

And  pillowed  his  head  on  my  breast, 
And  crooned  a  lullaby  softly. 

Till  his  white  lids  closed  in  rest. 

He  could  not  tell  what  appalled  him; 

Perhaps  'twas  the  coming  dark; 
Perhaps  but  a  cricket's  chirping. 

Or,  maybe,  a  firefly's  spark. 
"  But,"  I  sighed,  "it  must  be  so  always. 

His  star  he  will  never  meet, 
For  fear,  or  sin,  or  sorrow, 

Will  hinder  his  climbing  feet. 

"  The  world  is  wide  and  evil. 

And  ever  till  life  be  flown. 
Mid  pitfalls  of  darkness  and  danger. 

My  dear  one  must  go  alone." 
"  Auntie'll  keep  care  o'  baby!" 

Lisped  the  little  one  in  his  sleep, 
Then  I  thought  of  the  Heavenly  Shepherd, 

And  his  promise  to  guide  and  to  keep. 


36 


And  "surely  he  will  deliver," 

I  thought,  with  a  grateful  sense, 
"  Us  both  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler, 

And  the  noisome  pestilence. 
He  will  cover  us  with  His  feathers, 

And  under  His  wings  shall  we  trust; 
His  truth  is  our  shield  and  buckler. 

He  remembereth  we  are  dust.  " 

Then  I  held  my  nestling  closer 

And  smiled  at  my  poor  alarms. 
For  I  felt  the  strong  uplifting 

Of  the  Everlasting  Arms. 
And  thus  the  baby  brought  me. 

Not  the  star  that  had  been  his  quest. 
But  a  star  of  faith,  abiding. 

To  be  my  radiant  guest. 


37 


A  TRIBUTE 

Lone    Mansfield!     Monarch    of   the    Hills!  snow 

crowned, 
A  sentinel  on  his  own  majesty. 
Stands  silent,  dark  and  stern; — clusterino-  round, 
The  hills,  his  green-robed  vassals  stand;  in  glee 
They  toss  their  leafy  plumes,  but  never  he. 
Their  king  and  guard,  his  tireless  watch  suspends; 
He  looks  from  domes  of  Montreal  to  see 
The  blue  of  Adirondack  peaks,  or  bends 
To  gaze  on  Camel's  Hump,  or  where  the  Granite 

range  extends. 

Ah!  well  I  love  thee,  mountain  land!     My  home! 
Sweet  voiced  Winooski  and  the  smooth  Lamoille 
Are  dear  to  me,  and  pleasant  memories  come 
Of  bright  Champlain  and  blue  Lake  George;  the 

soil 
Where  sweet  arbutus  loves  to  trail  its  spoil; 
Where  falls  the  nut  and  hides  the  violet; 
The  land  of  calm  content  and  honest  toil 
My  childhood  loved,  I  claim  as  mine;  but  yet, 
Though  far  away,  those  scenes  I  knew  I  may  not 

soon  forget. 


THE  GLEN 

I  know  a  sanctuary  glen 

That  lieth  far  away; 
Its  tenant  pines  respond,  "Amen!" 

When  strong  winds  plead  or  pray. 

Within  the  glen  a  little  pool 

Abideth  still  and  lone, 
Constant  and  calm,  content  and  cool, — 

A  font  by  an  altar  stone. 

Like  Moslems  ail  bowed  low  to  pray 
Are  the  vines  about  its  brink; 

In  its  unsunned  depths  are  trout  at  play; 
At  its  margin  wild  birds  drink. 

Oh,  far  away  is  the  lonely  glen. 

As  my  youth  is  far  away, 
But  I'd  give  the  world  to  be  there  again, 

To  be  there  again  today; — 

I  would  lie  and  rest  as  a  child  rests  when 

He  is  too  tired  to  play; — 
I  would  rest  as  rest  unconquered  men 

At  the  close  of  a  hard-fought  day. 


39 


THE  RAIL  FENCE 

It  roves  the  farm  all  over 

With  awkward-stepping  feet, 
Here,  close  beside  the  clover, 

There,  just  beyond  the  wheat. 
Along  the  fallow,  fragrant, 

For  woodland  ways  it  makes. 
And  many  a  sylvan  vagrant 

As  boon  companion  takes. 

It  loves  the  woodbine  tangles, 

Invites  the  milkweed  pod, — 
And  all  its  sunny  angles 

Laugh  out  in  goldenrod. 
Beneath  the  creviced  rider 

The  cricket  shrills  close  hid 
And  from  the  stake  beside  her 

Complains  the  katydid. 


The  squirrel  is  its  lover. 

And  unafraid  and  fond 
Are  bobolink  and  plover 

Of  the  genial  vagabond. 
Of  all  around,  above  it, 

It  has  the  confidence 
And  man  and  nature  love  it- 

The  homely  old  rail  fence. 


40 


IN  MEMORIAM 
Rev.  3:  12 

I  pause  amid  life's  busy  ways 

To  drop  a  tear  above  her; 
I  knew  her  well  in  other  days, 

And  knew  her  but  to  love  her. 
What  matters  now,  or  praise  or  blame, 
Upon  her  brow  is  God's  New  Name. 

He  taketh  first,  He  loveth  best. 

We  know  in  love  He  gave  her; 
In  love  He  called  her  into  rest, 

In  wisdom  called  to  save  her, 
Perchance  from  sorrow,  want  or  shame. 
And  now  she  beareth  God's  New  Name. 

He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep;" 

Beyond  the  grave's  dark  portal 
She'll  waken  never  more  to  weep. 

And  rise  a  bright  Immortal. 
That  better  prize  than  earthly  fame, 
We  trust  she'll  bear,— 'tis  God's  New  Name. 

O  Jesus,  gentle,  crucified. 

Forgive  our  human  sorrow; 
Teach  us  to  look  beyond  life's  tide 

Into  that  bright  tomorrow. 
When  thou  shalt  say,  "These  overcame. 
Upon  their  brows  write  My  New  Name.' 


41 


TO  HELEN 

Goodness  is  beauty  in  its  best  estate;" 
This  gift  is  thine  and  since  it  must  abide 
With  thee  alway,  though  good  or  ill  betide, 
Thy  life,  dear  friend,  can  ne'er  be  desolate. 
For  blessings  sweet  and  heaven-sent  upon  its  days 
shall  wait. 


FORGIVENESS 

"  I  do  forgive,"  said  one,  "I  do,  but  go, 
'Tis  best  we  walk  apart,  but  go  forgiven; — 

Ah,  what  were  God's  forgiveness  did  He  so 
Remit  our  sins  and  then  deny  us  heaven  ? 


42 


MY  LITTLE  CLOCK 

My  little  clock  stands  in  its  place 
And  runs,  with  time,  its  daily  race; 
Its  tick,  tock,  cheerful  company. 
Its  smiling  dial  good  to  see, 
When  fast  the  hands  each  other  chase. 

When  wound,  it  stops, — unless  a  space 
Of  time  be  spent  upon  its  face; — 
This  done,  runs  true  and  merrily 
My  little  clock. 

Thus  men,  to  keep  a  steadfast  pace. 
Humbly,  before  the  throne  of  grace, 
Must  daily  go  to  strengthened  be 
In  faith,  and  helped  in  constancy. 
This  lesson  from  thy  ways  I  trace. 
My  Ijttle  clock. 


43 


THE  CLOSED  HOUSE 

The  dear  old  home,  low  gabled,  wide. 
With  broad  wings  spread  on  either  side, 
Sits  patient,  like  a  mother  bird. 
And  dreams  of  all  her  walls  have  heard 
In  days  that  with  the  past  abide. 

Her  lovers,  whom  far  seas  divide 
From  latch  string  and  from  ingleside. 
Revere  and  bless  in  thought  and  word 
The  dear  old  home. 

As  nestlings,  when  the  dusk  doth  chide, 
Haste,  'neath  protecting  love  to  bide, — 
So  wanderers,  with  eyes  tear-blurred, 
With  hearts  by  homesick  longings  stirred, 
Will  seek,  at  some  glad  eventide. 
The  dear  old  home. 


44 


HEARTSEASE 

A  little,  tender  flower 

With  modest  eye, 
Lived  half  its  summer  hour 

And  drooped  to  die. 

The  neighboring  grasses  tall, 

Field  daisies  white 
And  fern-banks  by  the  wall, 

Shut  out  the  light. 

Green  mosses,  cool  and  deep. 

Drank  all  the  dew: 
Tall  poppies,  half  asleep, 

In  sunshine  grew. 

The  flower  pondered  long— 

"  I  wonder  why, 
When  they  are  glad  and  strong, 

I  faint  and  die  ?" 

A  gardener,  wise  and  kind. 
Chanced  then  to  come; — 

"  Lo!  here  heartsease  I  find, 
I'll  have  it  home. 


4.5 


'*  Come,  winsome  blossom  blue, 

Make  glad  your  face, 
I'll  give  you  light  and  dew, 

You'll  grow  in  grace. " 

Our  God  is  Lord  of  death 

And  He  is  just 
And  He  remembereth 

That  we  are  dust. 

Tried  heart,  in  patience  rest, — 

His  day  will  come; 
What  time  He  knoweth  best. 

He'll  have  thee  home. 


ELECTRICITY 

A  sky-born  genius,  fettered,  housed; 

The  wonder-worker  of  the  hour; 
And  infant,  calm, — a  giant,  roused — 

With  heart  of  poet,  hand  of  power. 
A  slave  who  works,  or  fights,  or  sings. 

Or  voices  thought  and  gives  it  wings. 


FAITHLESS 

A  tremblinn;  star  lay  pale  and  fai  upon  the  sky  at 

even, 
A  fiery  comet  blazed  its  way  across  the  peaceful 
heaven: 
The  star!"  I  cried  in  agony  of  fear; 

A  helpless  spark  upon  the  monster's  path, 
What    power    can    save    it    from    swift    coming 
wrath  ?" 
A  moment  more  the  meteor  was  gone 
When  lo!  the  little  star,  God-kept,  shone  on. 

A  single  blossom  graced  the  bush  beside  my  cot- 
tage door; 
Fresh,  fair  and  pure,  upon  its  breast  a  gem  of  dew 
it  wore. 
An  angry  gale  swept  down  the  mountain  height: 
The  treasured  flower  was  leveled  by  the  blast, 
But  when  the  furious  storm  was  overpast. 

Unharmed,   the   flower   upraised   its   blushing 

face, 
Still  bright  with   dew  and  sweet  with  added 
crace. 


47 


As  fair  as  flower,  as  pure  as  star,  was  my  loved 

friend  to  me, 
So  near,  so  dear,  my  household  star,   my  own 
hearth  flower  was  she; 
But  malice  said,  "  You  have  a  friend  no  more." 
Ah!  then,  indeed,  I  bowed  my  widowed  head 
And  ever  sorrowed  for  that  love  was  dead, — 
But,  while  my  soul  despaired,  bright  dawned 

the  day, 
Beside  me  stood  my  friend  and  kissed  my  tears 
away. 


gTHEY  COME  NOT  BACK 

iy--' 

Who  would   resentment  hold  against  the  helpless 
dead  ? 
Those  mute,  defenceless  ones  God  hath  released 
and  shriven  ? 
And  yet,  alas  for  us!  we  live  disquieted 

Because  they  never  can  come  back  and  be  by  us 
forgiven. 


48 


TWO  PROBELMS 


Now  why  does  she  say,  "  I  don't  know," 
Whenever  I  ask  if  she's  going  ? 

Beats  my  time  why  she  treats  a  man  so. 

Now  why  does  she  say,  "  I  don't  know  ?" 

Some  one  else  must  have  asked  her  to  go 
And  she'll  do  it,  nor  give  me  a  showing. 

Now  why  does  she  say,  "  I  don't  know," 
Whenever  I  ask  if  she's  going  ? 


Why  doesn't  he  ask,  "  Will  you  go?" 
Instead  of  that  horrid,  "  You  going?" 
Of  course  I  must  say,  "  I  don't  know.  " 
Why  doesn't  he  ask,  "  Will  you  go  ?" 
The  stupid!  he  vexes  me  so! 

Then  I  go  with  some  man  not  worth  knowing. 
Why  doesn't  he  ask. 


49 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED 

She  hadn't  seen  Joe 

When  she  said  she  loved  me; 
Was  she  fickle  ?     O,  no! 
But  she  hadn't  seen  Jo — 

And  fate  willed  it  so — 

As  she  hoped  I  would  see; — 

She  hadn't  seen  Joe 

When  she  said  she  loved  me. 


MISAPPREHENSION 

When  I  ventured  to  ask  her  to  wed, 
I  had  misunderstood,  she  averred; 

Might  she  not  be  my  sister  instead  ? 

When  I  ventured  to  ask  her  to  wed. 

But  when  I  brought  needles  and  thread, 
Frayed  ties  and  torn  hose,  she  demurred. 

Like  the  day  when  I  asked  her  to  wed, 
I  had  misunderstood,  she'averred. 


50 


THE  CHIMES  AND  THE  STREET 
MINSTREL 

"  'Tis  a  brave  old  tune  the  bi<j;  chimes  ring, 

And  they're  never  too  tired  to  play; 
But  as  for  the  words  they  say  when  they  sing, 

They're  different  every  day." 
So  thought  the  boy  minstrel  and  tuned  his  guitar,- 

He  was  hungry  and  cold,  but  he  said: 
"  I  will  sing  for  the  bells  of  the  love  of  Christ, 

I'm  too  tired  to  sing  for  bread. " 

It'was  Christmas  eve  and  the  courthouse  chimes 

Rang  the  quarter  past  the  hour; 
"  One,  two,  three,  four,"  was  the  slow  refrain 

Of  the  chanting  bells  in  the  tower. 
"  The  Christ  is  born,"  sang  the  boy  below, 

And  the  strain  insistent,  sweet. 
Followed  the  happy  care  free  throngs 

That  threaded  the  crowded  street. 

But  no  one  marked  the  little  lad 

Or  saw  what  the  dark  eyes  plead, 
The  lad  who  sang  for  love  of  Christ, 

When  too  tired  to  sing  for  bread. 
Again  the  clanging  bells  rang  out 

The  half-hour's  measured  strain 
"  One,  two,  three,  four;  One,  two,  three,  four; 

Carolled  the  boy  again: 


51 


"  The  Christ  is  born  in  Bethlehem," 

The  words  rang  loud  and  sweet, 
And  fireside  groups  grew  still  to  hear 

The  singer  on  the  street. 
Another  interval  passed  by — 

Loud  pealed  the  bells  and  strong. 
And  ever  sweet  and  clear  and  high 

Echoed  the  singer's  song. 

"  The  Christ  is  born,  in  Bethlehem, 

Now  peace  on  earth,"  he  sang, 
The  stars  shone  bright,  the  moon  rode  high, 

And  the  Christmas  joybells  rang: 
The  merry  Christmas  joybells  rang, 

"  The  Christ  is  born,"  and  then 
In  clearer  tones,  "  Now  peace  on  earth, 

Good  will,  Good  will  to  men!" 

They  found  him  lying  where  he  fell; 

He  smiled,  "  I  cannot  sing, 
But  I  think  I'll  keep  my  Christmas 


Along  o'  Christ,  my  Ki 


mi 


With  Christ  the  King,  with  love  and  home. 

Softly  the  joybells  ring 
Of  the  sweetness  of  the  love  of  Christ, 

And  Christmas  with  the  King. 


53 


O  HELP  DIVINE! 

Reach  down  strong  hands 
Of  gracious  loving  kindness, 

0  help  Divine! 

My  Savior  and  my  God! 

1  grope  my  way, 

In  weakness  and  in  blindness. 
Turn  to  a  staff"  of  strength 
The  chastening  rod. 

I  fail— and  fall, 

All  hurt  and  torn  and  wounded, 
O  Help  Divine! 

My  Savior  and  my  God! 
I've  borne  so  long, 

Let  now  thy  love  unbounded 
Turn  to  a  healing  wand 

The  chastening  rod. 

It  shall  be  yours, 

Whate'er  ye  ask  believing:" 
Thy  spoken  words. 

My  Savior  and  my  God; 
Behold  I  come 

With  soul  bowed  for  receiving. 
To  benediction  turn 

The  chastening  rod. 


53 


LIBERATED 

"concerning  them  **  sorrow  not.  " 

—  Thess.,  4:13 — 

I  know  not  whether  'twas  palace  or  shed, 

But  I  dreamed  the  moon  was  round  and  bright; — 
A  sheeted  form  lay  low  on  a  bed, 
And  people  I  knew,  or  had  known,  said: 
"  Alas,  she  is  dead!     Our  friend  is  dead.  " 
Said  one  to  another,  "she  died  tonight." 

They  spoke  of  me.     I  replied,  "  I  am  here. " 

The  harvest  moon  shone  full  and  bright, 
But  they  mournfully  gazed  at  That  on  the  bier. 
Nor  heeded  my  words,  nor  my  presence  near. 
Nor  my  joyous  smile,  but  said:     "  Poor  dear — 
She  is  dead,  alas !     She  died  tonight. " 

I  went  among  them  and  plead,  "  No,  no! " — 
I  knew  them  all,  the  moon  shone  bright — 

"  That  poor  Deserted  ye  gaze  at  so 

Was  prison,  with  fetters  of  pain  and  woe; 

But  now  I  am  free.  "  Still,  communing  low. 
They  said:  "  She  is  dead!     She  died  tonight. ' 

I  wake  to  the  dawn  and  the  morning  star; — 
The  moon  is  away  on  her  sails  of  light; 

I  seem  to  have  journeyed  from  far — so  far! 

Is  this  life,  to  dwell  where  death's  shadows  are  ? 
Was  that  death,  that  step  from  blindness  to  sight  r 

When  next,  kind  angel,  the  gates  you  unbar, 

Let  them  say,  "  Free!  free!"  only  "  Free!"  that 
night. 


54 


THE  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

The  robed  and  sandaled  prophet  stood 

And  prayed,  'neath  Eastern  skies, 
God  to  reveal  some  coming  jrood 
To  his  dim  and  aging  eyes. 

He  spoke  endowed  with  prophecy — 

"Look  ye!     For  war  shall  cease! 

The  Wonderful!     The  Counselor! 

Shall  come  as  Prince  of  Peace!" 

The  weary  years  rolled  on  apace. 

The  prophet's  tongue  was  stilled, 
But  'neath  the  blue  Judean  skies 
His  vision  was  fulfilled, — 

What  time  the  herald  angels  sang 

Of  love  that  shall  not  cease, 
And  reveernt  kings  came  bearing  gifts 
To  one,  the  Prince  of  Peace! 

The  kings,  the  shepherds  and  their  flocks, 

The  stall,  the  manger  low. 
Have,  like  the  prophet,  now  become 
A  part  of  long  ago : — 

But  the  prophet's  words,  the  angels'  sang 

Ring  on,  and  shall  not  cease. 
For  love  on  earth,  good  will  to  man 
Comes  with  the  Prince  of  Peace! 


55 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

I 

All  in  the  silent  night. 
The  silent,  sacred  night. 

The  Holy  Lord  was  born; 
And  all  was  brought  to  light, 
To  life  and  love  and  light. 

That  ere  was  lost  or  lorn. 


n 


Be  thou  a  silent  night, 
A  still,  adoring  night, 

O  my  unquiet  soul! 

Christ  will  be  born  in  thee. 
And  thou  and  I  shall  see 

The  end  of  dour  and  dole. 

HI 

Despite  its  sin  and  strife. 
Father,  of  my  poor  life 

Another  Bethlehem  make, 
And  have  Thy  place  and  part 
At  once  within  my  heart 

For  Christ's  adored  sake. 


56 


THE  FIRST  EASTER 

I  love  to  read  the  story 

Of  the  first  great  Easter  Day, 
And  of  how  in  the  early  morning 

The  stone  was  rolled  away. 
I  dare  to  think  of  the  Master, 

In  Joseph's  rock-hewn  tomb. 
Since  the  world  of  gentle  nature 

Beguiled  the  hours  of  gloom. 

All  night  the  rose  of  Sharon 

Exhaled  her  perfume  sweet,.  . 
While  the  nightingale  sang  softly 

At   his   beloved   feet. 
There  the  lily-of-the-valley 

Rang  her  bells  in  her  own  dear  way. 
While  the  breezes  stopped  to  dally. 

Then  on  tiptoe  stole  away. 

The  timid  chirp  of  His  sparrows. 

His   ravens'   plaintive  cries. 
Made  the  dewy  darkness  voiceful 

And  told  of  the  dawn's  surprise. 
And  then  in  the  morning  early. 

While  the  world  in  twilight  lay. 
The  shining  ones  descended 

And  rolled  the  stone  away. 

At  dawn  came  sorrowing  Mary, 

In  holy  love  and  fear. 
And  heard  the  heavenly  message: 

"  He  is  risen!     He  is  not  here!" 
So  I  dare  to  think  of  the  garden 

And  its  days  and  nights  of  gloom. 
Since  I  know  both  earth  and  heaven 

Watched  over  the  dear  Lord's  tomb. 

57 


CHRISTUS  RESURREXIT 

Unto  the  tomb  where  my  Master  lay 
Early  there  came,  on  Easter  day. 

Three  women  to  whom  a  shining  one  said, 
"  Why  seek  ye  the  Living  among  the  dead  ? ' 
Hasted  they  then  with  this  glad  cheer, 
"  The  Lord  is  risen!     He  is  not  here!" 

Forth  from  the  tomb  my  Master  had  gone, 
No  more  with  life's  woes  to  be  clothed  upon; 
All  in  the  past  were  His  Nazareth, 
Gethsemane's  sorrow  and  Calvary's  death. 
The  messenger  angel  spoke  loud  and  clear, 
"  The  Lord  is  risen!     He  is  not  here!" 

Master,  my  Master! — He  came  and  He  went. 
Bearing  our  sins  and  He  died  forspent. 

But  over  the  cross  these  words  are  unfurled, 
"  I   am  with  you,   beloved,   to  the   end   of  the 
world." 
Chorus  the  strain,  angels  and  men! 
"  The  Lord  is  risen!     He  lives  again!" 

Then  sing,  sing  the  carols  and  ring  the  great  bell, 
Away  with  the  cypress  and  asphodel, — 

Bring  snowy  young  lilies,  bring  roses,  dew-wet. 
Bring  violets,  mary  buds,  bring  mignonette. — 
With  anthem  and  chant  and  resounding  chime, 
His  victory  tell  at  this  Easter  time. 

Ring  out!     Sing  out!  again  and  again, 
The  Lord  is  risen!     Hosanna!     Amen! 


58 


AN  EASTER  CAROL 

Sweet  were  the  songs  the  young  thrushes  sung, 
Gaily  the  hhes  their  waxen  bells  rung, 
Larks  from  their  grassy  nests  blithely  upsprung, 
Ages  ago,  one  morning. 

Laughing,  the  waterfall  leaped  from  the  rill; 
The  hoary  old  mountain-top  called  to  the  hill, 
*'  Rejoice!  and  be  glad,  for  our  God  hath  His  will! 
On  Easter  Day  in  the  morning. 

"  The  long  night  of  darkness  is  over  and  done; 
Be  glad,  for,  behold,  the  new  day  is  begun!" 
Shouted  the  cedars  of  fair  Lebanon, 
Ages  ago,  one  morning. 

Like  bells  lightly  strung  on  the  ribbon  of  time, 
The  years  of  the  centuries  join  in  the  chime; 
"  Rejoice!  O,  rejoice!"  is  the  chorus  sublime 
On  Easter  Day  in  the  morning. 


"  WHILE  IT  WAS  YET  DARK 

Through  desolate  hours  of  gloom 

Before  the  dawn  of  the  day. 
In  the  Pilate-guarded  tomb. 

Unfriended,  the  Master  lay. 
It  is  not  that  faith  forgets, 

Or  that  love  no  vigil  keeps, 
But  malice  the  night-watch  sets. 

And  the  Master,  unfriended,  sleeps. 


59 


Unfriended  ?     'Mid  chant  of  the  yew 

And  psalm  of  prosessional  pines, 
'Mid   offertory  of  dew 

From  the  roses  and  eglantines  ? 
While  the  lily  He  loved  so  well, 

That  pure,  little  acolyte, 
Attended  with  censer  and  bell 

Throughout  the  mystical  night  ? 

Did  the  whip-poor-will  and  the  lark 

Forbear  those  hours  to  sing, 
And  all  the  young  ravens  but  hark — 

Perched  near  with  folded  wing  ? 
Did  the  farthing  sparrows  make 

No  chirp  in  the  lonesome  gloom  ? 
Then  were  they  mute  for  His  dear  sake, 

While  He  slept  in  the  garden  tomb. 

Not  all  of  God's  infinite  power. 

Not  all  His  providence,  lay 
In  the  glorious  morning  hour 

When  He  rolled  the  stone  away. 
All  sorrow  His  comforters  heed. 

His  angels  all  loneliness  mark. 
His  fatherhood  answers  our  need 

And  surrounds  us  while  it  is  yet  dark. 


AN  EASTER  HYMN 

O,  thou.  Adored! 

Who  once  wast  born, 
And  cradled  'mong  the  lowly, 
And  lived  on  earth 
With  lost  and  lorn 
To  help  them  to  be  holy. 

Descend  again 
Immortal  Love! 
And  make  our  hearts  thy  manger; 
This  Easter  day 

O,    Heavenly    Dove! 
Come,  not  as  once,  a  stranger. 

Make  our  poor  lives 
Thy  Bethlehem, 
Our  faith,  a  star  of  glory — 
Our  worship,  gold 
And  frankincense 
And  myrrh,  as  in  the  story. 

While  drifting  down 
The  dream  of  years. 
The  angel's  song  of  gladness 
Shall  banish  from 
The  earth  its  fears, 
Its  sin  and  wrong  and  sadness. 


61 


And  all  the  way 
To  Emmaus, 
Go  with  us,  Loving  Kindness, 
When  evening  falls 
Abide   with   us, 
And  heal  our  doubt  and  blindness. 

When  morning  dawns, 
Beyond  the  sleep 
Which  bounds  each  mortal  story, 
Receive  us,  then 
Fore'er  to  keep 
Our  Eastertide  in  glory. 


62 


Whitcomb,Ch 

arlotte 

W581 

M193210     qs3> 


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